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Updated: June 11, 2025
But Travis was none too happy to have Deklay in on this. Travis dismounted, letting the pony push forward by himself to dip nose into the pool. "This is," Travis pointed politely with his chin "Menlik, one who talks with spirits.... Hulagur, who is son to a chief ... and Kaydessa, who is daughter to a chief. They are of the horse people of the north." He made the introduction carefully in English.
He tried to get up again, saw Deklay grin widely and take aim and at last Travis realized what was happening. Then there was a bursting pain in his head and he was falling falling into a well of black, this time with no pillar of blue to guide him.
He fell beside a stream and slept. There was sunshine about him as he arose to stagger on. What day was this? How long had he sat in the tower chamber? He was not sure of time any more. He only knew that he must reach the rancheria, tell his story, somehow win over Deklay and the other reactionaries to prove the necessity for invading the north in force.
I think perhaps the machine is still running, but running in a wrong way so that it does not awaken old memories of our ancestors now, but brings into being all the fears which have ever haunted us through the dark of the ages. I tell you, Travis, when I came out of that place Deklay was leading me by the hand as if I were a child. And he was shivering as a man who will never be warm again.
By some incredible stroke of good fortune, the point of his weapon actually grazed Deklay's arm, drawing a thin, red inch-long line across the skin. "Charge again, bull. Feel once more the Fox's teeth!" He strove to goad Deklay into a crippling loss of temper, knowing how the other could explode into violent rage. It was dangerous, that rage, but it could also make a man blindly careless.
The rush carried Manulito off his feet and face down on the sod while Travis made the best of his advantage and pinned the wildly fighting man under him. Had it been one of the older braves he might not have been so successful, but Manulito was still a boy by Apache standards. "Lie still!" Travis ordered. "Listen well so you can say to Deklay the words of the Fox!" The frenzied struggles ceased.
"That is the problem," Travis elaborated for the benefit of his clansmen. "We must get these Reds away from their protected camp out into the open. When they now go they are covered by this 'caller' which keeps the Tatars under their control, but it has no effect on us." "So, again I say: What is all this to us?" Deklay got to his feet.
Knife dueling among the Pinda-lick-o-yi, Travis remembered, had once been an art close to finished swordplay, with two evenly matched fighters able to engage for a long time without seriously marking each other. But this was a far rougher and more deadly game, with none of the niceties of such a meeting. He evaded a vicious thrust from Deklay. "The bull charges," he laughed. "And the Fox snaps!"
If Nolan's arguments had counted, they would be heading south away from the pass. And to follow would draw him farther from the tower valley. Travis' battered face ached as he grinned bitterly. This was another time when a man could wish he were two people, a scout on sentry duty at the valley, the fighter heading in the opposite direction to have it out with Deklay.
His head was clearer and suddenly he knew what must be done. As soon as his body was strong enough, he, too, would return to instincts and customs of the past. This situation was desperate enough for him to challenge Deklay. In the dark Travis frowned. He was slightly taller, and three or four years younger than his enemy. But Deklay had the advantage in a stouter build and longer reach.
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